High-School Sweethearts
by gaylock
Summary: Basically the entire Sherlock gang in a Baker Street Highschool AU. A Valentines Dance, weekly study sessions, Ballet Club, and part-time jobs at Mrs. Hudson's bakery all mashed up into one giant fic of gooey, lovey-dovey drama. A Johnlock/Mystrade/Mollrene/Salthea fic.
1. Chapter 1

_Blah blah blah. Honestly, what was even the point of this class?_ Sherlock Holmes sighed, slouched down in his desk, his head resting in the palm of his right hand while his left dangled off the edge of his desk. He'd known most of this stuff since he was nine! How on earth could it be considered learning, if he already knew it all? _Ugh._

"Mr. Holmes, I do hope you're paying attention." The sharp voice of his biology teacher, Mrs. Sinclair intruded on his thoughts, and he straightened up slightly in his seat.

"Yes, of course, Professor." He said, waiting for her to nod and turn back towards the blackboard, before letting his body slouch once again. The girl in the seat behind him snickered and leaned over to tap his shoulder.

"Hey," She whispered, tapping his arm.

Sherlock ignored her.

She tapped more forcefully. "Hey," She began to poke him in the side, her long arms easily reaching across the gap that was between them. Sherlock sighed and turned around.

"What?" He huffed out, one of his dark eyebrows raised in question above his piercing blue-grey-green eyes. The girl smirked and shrugged.

"Nothing, was just being annoying." She said cheekily, pulling her phone out and leaning back in her seat.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back around. "Oh, honestly Irene." He said, amusement in his voice. Irene Adler, the girl who sat behind him in his science class, had been his best friend ever since he began schooling here at Baker Street Academy. They had a lot in common; both loved learning but hated school. Both enjoyed running, but hated sports, both worked at the local bakery in town, and most importantly? Both despised everyone else.

Irene smirked and tapped her nails against her phone screen. "Gotta do _something_ to relieve the boredom. This class is old news; it feels like we learn the same thing every year." She made a face and stood up just as the bell signaling the end of class rang out. "Come on, we have Chemistry next."

Sherlock sighed and stood up, shoving his books into his bag and slinging it carelessly over his shoulder. "Chemistry is no better than this class. In fact, it may even be worse; ever since McCain's wife divorced him, he's been a complete arse to me."

Irene began to laugh as she walked beside him. "He's only an arse to you because you were stupid enough to announce in front of the entire class that his wife had been cheating on him with his brother! Oh god," She stopped walking to double over with laughter. "What I wouldn't give to have a picture of his face when you said that! Priceless!" She smiled at him, and he smirked back.

"Glad you find it funny." He said dryly, stepping out of the center of the corridor, where a moving stream of people continued forwards. He walked to his locker and opened it, tossing his Biology books in and pulling his Chemistry books out. "Come on, or we're gonna be late."

Irene exchanged her books as well, shoving something else alongside them into her bag. Sherlock ignored her, assuming it was her phone, or maybe one of those girly magazines she was always reading, and continued on towards their classroom.

"Hey, Sherlock."

Sherlock turned to look at Molly Hooper, who more often than not was his science partner for various labs and experiments. She was dressed in the required goggles and lab coat and smiled at him as she sat in the seat beside him.

"Molly." He replied, nodding his head once before turning back to the microscope and glass slide in front of him.

"Do you want to do the examination, and I'll start on the write-up? And then we can do the dissection part later in the week, and divide it up then." She said, pulling a notebook out of her bag along with a pencil. Sherlock nodded again and Molly turned away from him to begin writing.

The worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Molly cleared her throat and asked softly, "Uhm, Sherlock?"

She received a grunt in response and continued on. "Can... can I ask you a question?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders once. "You just did, so clearly you are able. But yes, go ahead."

Molly smiled a little at the very Sherlockian answer, before a slightly nervous look crept back over her features. "Uh, do you know where Irene is? I wanted to ask her something." She fiddled with the pencil in her hand and her eyes looked downwards.

Her question caused Sherlock to look up from his microscope in confusion. "Molly, Irene is right over there, working with Jennifer-" He cut himself off when he realized that his friend was no longer in her assigned seat. Taking a quick glance around the room, he realized that she was nowhere to be found.

"Guess that's a no, then," Molly said, watching him as he looked around. His eyes swiveled to face her, and she blushed. "I mean; I guess you don't know where she is..." She trailed off. "Never mind." She mumbled under her breath, turning back to her notebook. She began scribbling furiously.

Sherlock stared at her for a moment and was about to ask why she wanted to talk to Irene in the first place when his phone buzzed softly in his bag. He reached down and picked it up, only to see that Irene had sent him a text. Clicking it open, he read 

**Hey, come out here for a moment, I  
have something to show you.**

 **-Irene**

Sherlock furrowed his brows and stood up. Molly glanced up from her furious scribbling and asked, "Where are you going?"

"Loo," Sherlock said, before walking out of the room. He stepped out into the hall and immediately saw his best friend walking towards him, her phone in her left hand and a small plastic bucket in her right.

"Oh good, you came. Here," She said, before handing the bucket to him.

"A bucket," He said, looking down at where it rested in his hands. "Why on earth do you have a bucket?"

Irene's lips curled up in a slow smile. "You'll see," Was all she said, before leading him down the hall a bit. When they got to a small alcove, she stopped them and told him to put the bucket down onto the ground. He looked at her for a moment before shrugging and doing as she said.

Then, Irene reached into the alcove and pulled out a large container of pudding. Chocolate pudding. Sherlock's eyebrows rose. _Interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay, hold that bucket up for me, please?" She said, before tipping the entire container of pudding into the bucket as he held it in his hands. His eyebrows rose further.

"What do you need pudding for? It's chemistry, not lunch time." Sherlock asked her, stepping back while Irene tossed the now empty pudding container aside and began walking back towards their classroom. "Is it for an experiment?"

Irene laughs. "You could say that, yeah. We're gonna dump it on McCain's head and watch his reaction. Call it a social experiment." She sashayed towards the classroom door, still giggling.

Sherlock stood frozen in place before he laughed and scurried after her. "Irene! That's _brilliant!"_ He stopped beside her right outside the classroom door and watched as she glanced in.

"Hey Sherlock, I'll make a distraction that'll get him out in the hall while you set the bucket up, alright?" Irene looked at him and tapped the bucket once with the tip of her perfectly painted finger.

Nodding, Sherlock stepped into the room and held the bucket behind his back. "How are you gonna get him out of here?" He asked Irene, keeping his voice low so as not to attract McCain's attention. He glanced over at his desk and Chemistry partner, only to see Molly Hooper staring right back.

"Oh, I have my ways," Irene said mysteriously, removing her phone from her pocket and tapping out a quick message, before smiling at her friend and moving towards her desk to sit down. Sherlock stared after her for a moment, before shrugging and moving closer to the wall beside the door, waiting for his cue. It came in the form of a male voice, blaring out obnoxious and rather inappropriate lyrics to a popular song.

"What the…" McCain muttered under his breath. He got up from his desk and moved quickly towards the door. "Who is making all that racket?" He said loudly, sticking his head out of the doorway and looking towards the person responsible.

" **FUCK THE POLICE, BITCHES!"** Came the reply, and McCain stepped out into the hall.

"Now, I don't know who you are, young man, but if you think I'm going to let you get away with disturbing my class in such a manner–"

The boy cut him off with a loud cry of, **"WILL THE REAL SLIM SHADY PLEASE STAND UP!"** Before running down the corridor. McCain let out a shout of "Hey!" before he too went running down the corridor. Shouts of, "Now you listen here!" were accompanied by, **"AWH SKEET SKEET MOTHAFUCKA!"** before they turned the corner and were gone.

In the ensuing chaos of the class, as every student who had been working quietly now started talking and wondering what was going on, Sherlock stepped up to the door and closed it, before placing the bucket on the rod that stuck out from above the door. Irene's plan was genius; when McCain opened the door, the bucket full of pudding would tip, and McCain would be covered in chocolate pudding as a result.

Sherlock smiled and walked back to his seat. Oh, yes, this was going to be fun.

Molly gave him a slightly startled look, before raising an eyebrow and nodding at him. "Pranks, Sherlock? _Really?"_

He was shocked. She'd noticed? He sat back in his seat as casually as possible. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Molly rolled her eyes and smirked. "Okay, whatever." She said, before going back to her notes.

Irene had to stop three people from trying to leave the classroom, but finally, twenty minutes later, Sherlock heard footsteps in the hallway outside the classroom door. The class had just begun to settle back down, and when the knob turned, the last few trouble makers fled to their seats, trying to appear as if they'd been doing work the entire time. Sherlock stared at the slowly opening door like a hawk, and from the corner of his eye could see both Molly and Irene facing the door as well.

It seemed to happen in slow motion; the door seeming to take forever to open, and then the even slower entry of Professor McCain. His brown leather shoes entered the room first, his trouser covered legs following close behind. Sherlock barely noticed this, though, as his eyes were now trained on the slowly tipping bucket above the teachers' head. It wasn't until McCain stood fully within the classrooms now open doorway, that the bucket finally completed its journey, and emptied its contents.

"Now then, as I was saying –" McCain began, only to be interrupted by a fountain of brown liquid substance cascading over his head and face, and covering him head to toe. He sputtered as the class erupted in laughter around him, and the click of a camera could be heard as Irene took several photographs of the spectacle.

"What is this?! Wha – is this _pudding?!"_ He screeched, lifting his hands up to wipe his eyes. McCain's glare scanned the room, and his face turned an ugly shade of red underneath its layer of pudding. "Who did this? Hmmm? Was it you, Connelly? _Was it you, Davies?"_ His accusations were wild, and as he stomped towards his desk while leaving a trail of brown footprints behind him, Sherlock couldn't help but let out a loud snort.

" _You, Holmes?"_ Came the accusation, and as Sherlock met the enraged gaze of his teacher, he knew he would be blamed. Still laughing, Sherlock shook his head, but McCain continued.

"It was you, wasn't it? You, always making trouble. Well, now you've gone too far!" McCain screamed at him, his whole body shaking with anger. This only caused more laughter, however, as the shaking dislodged some of the pudding from the top of his head and sent it sliding down the center of his face.

"Office! NOW!" Sherlock tried to contain his snorts of laughter as he did as McCain ordered and gathered his things before leaving the classroom. He closed the door behind him as softly as he could and sent a wink to Irene before shutting it firmly. He laughed to himself as he walked down the hall towards the Headmaster's office. The photo's Irene took would be priceless, he honestly couldn't wait.

Just as he reached the office, his phone pinged, and he pulled it out. It was a text from his brother. Sherlock smiled; not even a text from his brother could bring his good mood down.

He pressed the call button and listened to it ring, once then twice, before Mycroft picked up.

"Hello, brother dear." He said, his amusement clear in his voice. "Did Molly text you? She must have, Irene certainly wouldn't."

Mycroft's voice was loud in his ear. "Why have you been sent down to the Headmaster's office, this time, Sherlock?" Mycroft sounded tired, and Sherlock couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, I don't really know. I _guess_ it's because I dumped pudding all over McCain, but I'm not sure…"

"WHAT?!"

Sherlock smirked. "Oh, you would have loved it, Mycroft. It was chocolate; your favorite."

Mycroft sounded weak as he said, _"Have you lost your mind?_ What on earth caused you to dump pudding on a teacher? You'll be expelled for this for sure!"

"No, I won't, because you'll get me out of it like you always do. It's your job." Sherlock replied smugly, waving at the Head Secretary before sitting down in a chair to wait. The Office Personnel were well acquainted with the younger Holmes by now, as he had spent many an afternoon waiting for a meeting with the Headmaster.

"I'm not your babysitter, Sherlock. It _isn't_ my job." Mycroft sighed.

"Well, you certainly don't want Mummy finding out, do you?" Sherlock asked, and when his question was met with silence, his smirk grew. "I thought not. I'll see you soon, brother dear." He said, and hung up before his brother could get the last word.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. I'd say it's nice to see you back here, but…well, it's _really_ not." The Head Secretary Mrs. Turner said, trying to hide her fond smile behind a stern look.

Sherlock smiled back. He wasn't fooled for a moment. "Hello, Mrs. Turner. I'm sorry I can't say the same; it's _always_ a pleasure to see you." He said with a wink, and Mrs. Turner giggled and shook her head.

"Oh, such a charmer." She said. "Headmaster Gregson will be ready for you in about ten minutes. He's in a meeting right now." She smiled at him and turned back to her computer screen.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and fiddled with his phone while he waited for his brother to make his excuses to whichever teacher he was with at the moment and arrive. He ended up waiting seven minutes and thirty-three seconds before the Office door opened and his brother stepped in, a scowl on his face.

"Good, you're here." Sherlock jumped up. "Gregson will be out in a few minutes; you can work on what you're going to say until then."

"You know, maybe if you tried apologizing for once, you wouldn't need your brother for this." Mrs. Turner said, her eyebrows raised sardonically as she sent a smile Mycroft's way. "Hello dear, it's lovely to see you. Need me to write up a note for your next class? History, isn't it?"

Mycroft smiled slightly at the older woman, moving towards the chairs and taking a seat. "Pleasure, as always, Mrs. Turner. I don't believe the note will be necessary; I'm hoping to have this matter done with before the period is over. I should be able to get to History in plenty of time." He turned towards his brother, who was now pacing back and forth across the Office floor. "And I don't expect we'll be seeing any sort of apology from Sherlock anytime soon." He sighed.

Sherlock snorted. "Obvious. Have you figured out what you're going to bribe him with? Shouldn't be too hard, it's not the first time."

 _"Sherlock!"_ Mrs. Turner exclaimed, though whether she was shocked at the implication that Gregson could be bribed or the fact that a student had done it before, neither Holmes could tell.

Sherlock waved her concern off. "Oh, don't be like that. If Mycroft hadn't been able to bribe at least half the teachers at this school, I'd have been expelled long ago." He snorted once and stopped his pacing, flopping gracelessly down into the chair beside his brother.

Mycroft smirked. "Sad, but true. Ah, I believe Headmaster Gregson is finished with his meeting; shall we?" He stood up and indicated that Sherlock should as well, before nodding at Mrs. Turner. As both Holmes boys stepped forwards, the Headmaster's Office door opened, and two adults stepped out. Gregson appeared behind them and waited for them to leave before glancing at the waiting boys.

He frowned at Sherlock and glanced warily at Mycroft. "Well, come in then. Might as well get this over with."


	3. Chapter 3

Both boys stepped into the office, and Mycroft closed the door behind them. As they took a seat in front of Gregson's desk, Gregson sighed.

"I'll assume you've been somewhat informed of the situation, Mycroft?"

Mycroft crossed his legs and nodded once. "While Sherlock hasn't said much past the fact that pudding was somehow involved, I have my own sources of information, which tell me this was some wort of...prank?" His voice rose slightly at the end of his sentence, making it sound like a question.

Gregson winced. "Yes. It's been determined that Sherlock, and possibly another student, though Professor McCain has no way of knowing who, filled a plastic bucket with pudding and...well, they rigged it up above the door, so that when the Professor stepped back into the classroom after having left to apprehend a miscreant, his opening of the door tipped the bucket and caused it to drop the pudding over him." Gregson shuffled some papers on his desk, before continuing. "Now, normally after something like this happens, I would have the student be given detention, possibly a weeks worth, or a few extra assignments." He looked up from the papers in his hands. "As it is, Sherlock already has a bit of a record of such occurrences, and the board has requested that I take a more drastic approach."

Sherlock snorted. Mycroft ignored him and replied, "The board, Mr. Gregson, or Professor McCain?" He raised his left eyebrow slowly and uncrossed his legs, sitting up straight in his chair.

Gregson sighed. "Yes, well, the thing is, Professor McCain has reported several disturbances in his class that he says were caused by Sherlock, so I don't really blame him."

Mycroft sighed and leaned back. "Yes, I have heard." He glances at his brother out of the corner of his eye for a moment, before turning back towards the Headmaster. "How was it determined that Sherlock's the one responsible for this most recent incident?"

He see's his brother tense slightly beside him, and smirks. Gotcha.

Gregson looks confused. "Well, Professor McCain told me that-"

Mycroft cut him off. "Professor McCain has no proof that it was my brother's doing, is that correct?" He leaned forwards slightly in his seat, his eyes now staring unblinkingly at Gregson.

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Well then." Mycroft leaned back and crossed his legs again, looking like he was relaxing by the fire with a book, not discussing his brother's potential removal from the school. "No proof, no conviction. If Professor McCain cannot prove that my brother is responsible, then we must assume his accusation is based on personal dislike. Mustn't we, Headmaster?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And that is entirely unacceptable. Teachers should be objective in all things, as well as impersonal when dealing with their students. The fact of the matter is, Mr. McCain's actions make it seem as if he is taking out his upset on a student, due to personal feelings. I am sorry, but that is not appropriate behavior, is it, Headmaster?" Mycroft watched as Gregson spluttered for a moment, working his head around what had just happened.

Sherlock smirked beside him, and Mycroft felt a moment of triumph. He absolutely _loved_ winning.

"I believe you are correct, Mycroft. Unfortunately, There is still the matter of Sherlock's disturbances within the class over the past few weeks, and if I do not give him some sort of punishment, the Board will not be pleased." Gregson sighed in defeat. It seemed as if every time he thought the younger Holmes boy was about to be expelled, his brother found a way to work around it. Mycroft Holmes...kinda terrified him.

"That's fine." Mycroft replied, not bothering to ask 'Board or McCain' again, aware that they all knew the answer. "A three day suspension should be enough, don't you think? Actually, best make it a week. Wouldn't want the... _Board_...to be dissatisfied."

Gregson nodded and made a note on the paper in front of him. "Alright, that should be fine. Sherlock, you are bloody _lucky_. Remember that." He stared sternly at the younger boy, who had been basically silent the entire time they had been talking. This was not unusual, as whenever Mycroft decided his input was necessary during one of these meetings, Sherlock let his brother do most of the talking. When Sherlock nodded, Gregson turned back to his paperwork and said, "Alright, get out of here. I don't want to see either of you in here for at least a week. Understood?"

"Yes, Headmaster Gregson." They chimed simultaneously, before Sherlock opened the door and ushered his brother out, closing it behind him.

"Alright, gather your things Sherlock, and I'll drive you home." Mycroft said, leading his brother to the door. "Goodbye, Mrs. Turner."

Mrs. Turner smiled at their backs and waved. "Bye, Mycroft. Try to get back in time for your next class, since you'll be missing History completely it seems." She called after them.

Mycroft walked with Sherlock to the boys locker and waited for him to shove his textbooks into his bag and grab his jacket from the hook. "Got everything now?" Mycroft asked, his eyes glancing down at the phone in his hand as his text alert went off. It was a text from his best friend Anthea, telling him off for being late to History. He sighed and ignored her. "Come on, let's get you home."

Sherlock slung his bag over his shoulder and followed his brother to the car. "That was easier than I expected." He remarked, opening the back door to his brother's car and tossing his bag in, before shutting it and sliding into the passenger's seat. "Gregson's gone soft in his old age." He smirked.

Mycroft's phone went off again, and this time he responded.

Anthea's text read: **Where are you? -A**

 **Currently attending to my brother. -MH**

Mycroft texted her back. She replied almost immediately.

 **Oh for fuck's sakes. Okay, well try to make it  
back in time for History, okay? I can't keep giving  
O'Leary excuses. -A**

Mycroft grimaced and texted her back one last time. She was going to be so pissed at him.

 **I'll do my best, but no promises; my brother is  
being more difficult than usual. -MH**

Mycroft started the car and pulled out of the lot, making his way towards their home. "It seems so, doesn't it. Honestly Sherlock, I can't keep missing classes to clean up after you like this." Sherlock was silently looking out the window, his body still.

"I know. Sorry." He mumbled under his breath, but the small sigh from beside him indicated that Mycroft had heard the apology.

"Thank you." Mycroft said, just as softly.

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Will you drive me to work tonight? Normally Irene would, but since I won't be at practice tonight..." He trailed off and looked at his brother hopefully.

Mycroft thought for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I should be able to do that. You work at five tonight, yes?" He asked, and turned into their driveway. He stopped the car and got out.

Sherlock hopped out and grabbed his bags from the back before shutting the door. "Yup." He said, cocking his head to the side slightly. "You and Anthea have study group tonight, don't you?" He made a face while his brother nodded _. "Ugh._ Well, I'll get a ride back with Irene then. We're both on closing, so I won't be home until ten." He walked into the house and leaned out the door. "And Mycroft?"

Mycroft looked up from where he was standing, about to get back into his car. "Yes?"

Sherlock smirked. "You're telling Mummy why I'm not in school for the next week. Just thought you should know." He laughed and shut the door.

Mycroft sighed and got in the car. Just another day as Sherlock's older brother. Or as Anthea had taken to calling him, Sherlock's Personal Babysitter...


	4. Chapter 4

It was the second last period of the day, and Greg watched the clock above the teacher's desk tick the time away in the slowest possible manner. It's not that Greg disliked History class, because he didn't. In fact, he quite liked it. Who wouldn't want to learn about their country's past, and awesome things like wars and government upheaval? No, the fact was that as much as Greg enjoyed the things he learned in History, there was something he enjoyed much, much more.

Turning slightly in his seat, Gregory Lestrade scanned the desks to his left for the fiftieth time in the past sixty minutes. There was still a complete absence of auburn hair in the assembled students, and Greg couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh. Despite the fact that the class was nearly over, Greg had hoped that the missing student would still show up. Alas, as the clocks ticking continued, and the end of class crept significantly closer, Greg let his head rest on top of his desk and admitted defeat; the student was not showing up to class today.

The weather outside matched perfectly his mood, the sky a dull grey and the clouds the colour of oncoming rain. Not that it ever looked much different, considering they resided in England and the weather was notoriously wet and grey all the time. But still, it gave Greg some satisfaction, knowing that Mother Nature was suffering the same mood as he was.

Normally, History class was a time of excitement for him, as they often times discussed and debated the topics they learned about. Greg would then sit back and watch as the one student in the class who, in Greg's opinion, outshone all the rest, bested all the other arguments flawlessly and without any trouble at all. It was possibly Greg's favourite thing to do; watch the young man as he used logic to break his opponents apart and smother their attempts at rising back up. It was absolutely magnificent!

Unfortunately, the student had not been present at today's debate, and Greg felt his absence strongly if the number of times he had glanced at the empty seat three rows from his was any indication. And as History was his only class with him, Greg felt as if his up-until-this-point moderately good day had been ruined. Next period Greg had free, before a two-hour Rugby practice, and it would be approximately 23 hours before he had the chance to sit in this class and watch the magnificence that is Mycroft Holmes at work. That is if he bothered to show up tomorrow. Greg groaned as the bell rang, and sat up.

Sometimes life fucking sucks.

"I expect two thousand words on the religious and empirical significance of Elizabeth's Reign before class on Wednesday next week. Class dismissed."

As the class emptied around him, Greg was busy shoving his textbook and pencils back into his book-bag. He was almost finished when the low, quiet voice of his History Professor, Mr. O'Leary, spoke up.

"Mr. Lestrade, a word please."

Greg looked up and sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder before stepping up to the front of the classroom and up beside the teacher's desk. "Sir?"

His teacher cleared his throat slightly, before leaning forwards over the top of his desk and frowning. "Mr. Lestrade, it is my belief that your placement on the school's Rugby team is dependant on you maintaining a GPA of 80%." Mr. O'Leary raised his eyebrows in question, his hands coming to rest on top of his desk.

Greg swallowed thickly and nodded. Well, fuck. "Yes, that is correct sir."

Mr. O'Leary nodded back, and his eyebrows descended from their high perch on his forehead, coming to rest once again over his dark eyes. "I see." Leaning back in his chair, he took a moment to pick up one of the documents on his desk and scan it.

"Mr. Lestrade, it has come to my attention that your GPA has dropped 5% in the past month, due nearly entirely to your mark in my class." He tilted his head down and peered over his spectacles.

Greg winced slightly. Oh god, Coach was gonna kill him, not to mention Mum…

"Mr. O'Leary, sir… I know my scores on the past two tests haven't been exactly stellar, but I have been trying, I swear, and—"

His teacher cut him off mid protest. "Mr. Lestrade, I have no doubt that you have been trying. You seem to be very dedicated to your schoolwork, and not at all the type of boy to shirk his duties for the sake of sport. If it was up to me, this would not pose any problem at all. Unfortunately, it is not up to me." Mr. O'Leary sighed wearily, pulling his glasses off with one hand and rubbing over his brow with the other.

"Mr. Lestrade, Headmaster Jones and Coach Simmons have made it clear that unless you bring your History grade up before exams, by at least 10%, you will find yourself removed from the Rugby team. That gives you little more than five weeks to re-take both tests in addition to completing all work up until that point with the highest possible grades. I am afraid that there is nothing I can do to remedy the situation, and I suggest you find a tutor as quickly as possible."

Greg stood frozen in place for a moment, his mind reeling.

"Yes, sir. Thank you. I'll just, um…" And with a nod, Greg turned quickly and made his way out of the classroom. He clutched at the strap of his bag like it was a life line, and made his way down the corridor to his locker.

Thankfully his feet knew the way because his brain was too unfocused to actually be of any use. All he could think about was Mr. O'Leary's words over and over again, and his own panicked reaction to them.

'10%? In only five weeks? How the hell was he supposed to accomplish that? Two retests, plus all his other school work, plus the rest of his History shit…and then exams… Buggering fuck… he was screwed! Destined to fail! And without his position as Captain on the Rugby team, he would never be able to maintain his scholarship! Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck… Coach was gonna blow a fuse… and his team was gonna kill him for making them stage tryouts for another Captain… and then when he got home in a body bag, his Mum would revive him, only to murder him all over again once she found out about the sorry state of his grades!

And his scholarship!' Greg froze anew, coming to a standstill in the middle of a corridor, as this new thought struck him. His eyes widened and he felt as if his world was crashing down around his feet. 'The scholarship would become null if his grades dropped past an 80%! Mum would be furious, she had worked so many extra hours, and saved every spare penny to get him the chance to go to this school, and here he was, throwing it all away like a right berk! Oh shit, if he got kicked out, he would never forgive himself…'

Greg was so unfocused, and in such a high state of panic, that as his feet carried him through the corridors, he failed to notice a pair of ice blue eyes following him as he made his way down the hall. Ice blue eyes that peered out from under auburn bangs, both which belonged to one Mycroft Holmes.


	5. Chapter 5

Nails tapping against the screen of her phone, the brunette teenager sent a quick text to her best friend as she stood at her locker after the lunch break.

 **Where are you? -A**

Standing at her locker waiting for a reply, she quickly sent off another text, to her other best friend.

 **Hey Mols, we still on for today? -A**

 **Hi, Anthea! And yeah, meet me in the studio today after  
school, I should be done around 3 ish.**

 **So you have practice tonight? I thought it was on  
Monday's and Thursdays? -A**

 **Yeah it is, but we wanted the extra practice**

 **OK, I'll meet you there. I have to leave early tonight, though, it's  
study group night, and you know how Myc is about punctuality -A**

After finishing up texting Molly, Anthea checked her phone and saw that Mycroft had texted her back. She read the text and rolled her eyes. Honestly, you'd think he was Sherlock's mum, not his brother.

 **Currently attending to my brother. -MH**

Tapping out a reply, she quickly pulled her bag higher up on her shoulder and began walking towards her next class: History.

 **Oh for fuck's sakes. Okay, well try to make it  
back in time for History, okay? I can't keep giving  
O'Leary excuses. -A**

A few seconds later, her Blackberry beeped with Mycroft's reply, and she scanned the text as she stepped into her classroom and took her seat near the front of the class.

 **I'll do my best, but no promises; my brother is being**  
 **more difficult than usual. -MH**

'That's a no, then.' She thought to herself and sighed. Pulling her textbook and binder out of her bag, Anthea sat and waited for everyone to shuffle in and take their seats, knowing that it would be up to her to scribe notes for Mycroft to look over later that night. 'I'm gonna buy only chocolate muffins tonight, just to spite him.' She thought, before turning to the front of the class as Professor O'Leary began serenading them all with the wonders of the Tudor line.

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Anthea Boyette stood outside of Baker Street School, tapping her foot impatiently. Her brown eyes scanned the student parking lot continuously until a black Bentley pulled up and parked with the precision of a perfectionist. She stared at the car until it stopped completely, fiddling with her Blackberry in her left hand.

"You're late. Again. Mr. O'Leary is not happy."

Mycroft Holmes heaved himself out of his car and scowled at the girl waiting for him at the doorway to the school. "If it wouldn't upset Mummy, I'd kill the little brat right now."

Anthea raised her eyebrows and laughed. "What did he do this time?"

Mycroft sighed as he lifted his bag higher on his shoulder and stepped into the school corridor with his best friend beside him. "Rigged his classroom doorway with pudding. Pudding, Anthea! Honestly, the number of teachers I've had to placate, not to mention the number of uniforms I've had to replace in the past year is frankly ridiculous." Shaking his head slightly, he strode down the hallway. "If he doesn't stop soon, the Holmes name will be nothing but that, a name. We'll be left destitute, not a penny between us! Do you know how expensive science equipment is? And he's already ruined three sets of lab technology this year."

Anthea unsuccessfully tried to hide her amusement, attempting to stifle her giggles behind her textbooks. The auburn haired boy turned towards her and glared, stopping in front of his locker.

"It isn't funny." He said, straightening his tie and twisting the key in his lock before opening the door.

"Of course not, no, no you're right, it isn't." Anthea shook her head, then nodded, trying to look serious.

She failed.

Mycroft's scowl returned, and he glared at his reflection in the small mirror on the door of his locker. "Oh come off it, of course, _you_ think it's hilarious. You probably think I'm being overdramatic, too. You always think it's amusing when Sherlock pulls one of his little tricks!"

"That's because it is. It's not my fault you don't have a sense of humour. And you are being a little bit overdramatic, Myc." The brunette smiled cheekily, before linking arms with Mycroft and checking her phone. "Come on, we're going to be late for World Gov. if you don't hurry your 'nearly destitute' ass up."

Mycroft pulled his World Government book and binder out of his locker and pulled the door shut, clicking the lock back in place. "Your continued insistence on shortening the names of our classes is no less annoying than it was at the beginning of this term."

Anthea rolled her eyes as they began walking down the hallway. "Your continued insistence on eating only whole grain muffins from the bakery is no less ridiculous than it was when you first started."

Mycroft smirked slightly, shoving his books into his bag and glancing at his phone. "Touché. You go ahead to World Government," Here, Mycroft made a point of meeting his friend's eyes, purposefully stating the entire name of their next class. He ignored her eye roll and continued speaking. "I'm going to go talk to Mr. O'Leary before class begins, and see what I've missed."

Anthea nodded, and when they came to the doorway to the History classroom, she continued walking. "Just make sure you hurry up; you know how pissed Benner gets."

Mycroft huffed a sigh, and called after her, "Professor Benner, Anthea."

Not bothering to respond, she made a rude gesture over her shoulder and continued walking. Mycroft laughed quietly, shaking his head at her antics. He had come into the school in an absolutely foul mood, and after just a few minutes in the company of his best friend, he felt better. Moving forwards, Mycroft was about to step through the partly opened doorway, when his ears picked up voices from within. Leaning towards the opening in front of him, Mycroft Holmes put his amateur espionage skills to use and began listening in to the conversation going on within the room. With any luck he could learn something of use, something that would make decent…blackmail was such a pedestrian term, but for the sake of argument, that is the term to use…decent blackmail material for the future. He smiled slightly, and tuned into the conversation.

"…it has come to my attention that your GPA has dropped 5% in the past month, due nearly entirely to your mark in my class."

That was most definitely the voice of his teacher…but who on earth could he be talking to? Mycroft pressed slightly more forward, attempting to discern the identity of the person being questioned. As his ears picked up the slightly panicked voice of the student within, the auburn haired boy's eyes widened in recognition.

Oh.

"Mr. O'Leary, sir… I know my scores on the past two tests haven't been exactly stellar, but I have been trying, I swear, and—"

 _Oh._ God.

"Mr. Lestrade, I have no doubt that you have been trying. You seem to be very dedicated to your schoolwork, and not at all the type of boy to shirk his duties for the sake of sport. If it was up to me, this would not pose any problem at all. Unfortunately, it is not up to me."

Mycroft stood in the slight opening, frozen. It wasn't just some student, being questioned by their teacher. It wasn't another one of the idiotic juveniles who thought they knew everything, and never bothered to hand in assignments; no. It wasn't someone Mycroft could control with blackmailing information. It was the one student in his History class (other than Anthea, of course) whom Mycroft didn't think was an idiot, the one student who actually challenged Mycroft in debates, and used an intelligent and logical argument to do so. The one student who, despite trying not to, Mycroft found his eyes drawn to time and time again. That dark hair, those darker eyes, that charming smile. Defined arm muscles that flexed with every raise of a hand, strong calves that on warmer days were left bare, showing off a body toned by Rugby. No, the student within the classroom wasn't just another goldfish; it was _Gregory Lestrade._

The sound of the voices within the room got slightly louder, and Mycroft forced himself to unfreeze and begin listening again.

"…unless you bring your History grade up before exams, by at least 10%, you will find yourself removed from the Rugby team. That gives you little more than five weeks to re-take both tests in addition to completing all work up until that point with the highest possible grades. I am afraid that there is nothing I can do to remedy the situation, and I suggest you find a tutor as quickly as possible."

All that in five weeks? On top of every other class, and Rugby? Good lord, he would most certainly need a tutor, if not a bloody miracle! Poor Gregory…wait.

 _Wait a second_.

Mycroft paused, his big brain whirring in thought, as an idea popped up into his head. Slowly, the idea began to take shape, transforming from a simple idea, into a plan. If Gregory needed a tutor…and he himself was top of the class…well, top of every class, actually…then who but himself would make the best possible tutor for the brown haired boy?

He smiled widely at the thought, knowing it was true. Knowing also, that there was more to his wanting to tutor Gregory than altruistic reasons. But the reasons don't matter, right? Of course not, what matters is helping Gregory out, and making sure he got to keep his place on the Rugby team. Mycroft nodded to himself, cementing the idea in his head, his brain already coming up with a way to put his plan into action.

"Yes, sir. Thank you. I'll just, um…"

Mycroft jolted in shock as footsteps moved quickly towards his hiding place, and he stepped out of the way of the door and into a small alcove just as the brunette stepped out of the room and into the corridor. He pressed himself against the wall in the hope that Gregory would not spot him, and luckily, it seemed Gregory was much too distracted and distressed to notice much of anything at all. Mycroft let out his breath, not having realised he had been holding it in the first place, and watched the other boy make his way slowly down the corridor, presumably towards his locker.

'Now,' He thought to himself, as Gregory's figure disappeared around the corner at the end of the hall. 'Time to put my plan into action.' And with that thought, the auburn-haired teenager stepped out of the alcove and past the now open doorway of the History room, completely forgetting his original intentions of speaking with his History Professor. Instead, he walked quickly down the hallway, following the sound of Gregory's footsteps echoing off the corridor walls.

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Anthea finished reading the chapter in her textbook that had been assigned to them at the beginning of class and sighed. Her eyes glanced quickly at the clock above the doorway, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, Mycroft was fifteen minutes late to class; he was probably getting lectured by O'Leary on the importance of education and respect for one's elders, or some other such nonsense. She snorted under her breath and looked around at her fellow classmates. Seeing everyone still focussed on their textbooks, Anthea risked pulling her phone out and sending a quick text to Mycroft.

 **Hurry the fuck up, Gingersnap. Benner**  
 **will blow a fuse if you don't show up soon. -A**

She glanced up at the clearing of a throat, and grinned sheepishly at Mrs. Benner, before clicking her phone off and dropping it into her bag. Tapping her nails against her thigh, Anthea gazed about the room again, looking for something to distract her for the next few minutes while everyone else finished their reading. Normally she'd chat quietly with Mycroft, but the stupid bugger still wasn't there yet. During her search, her brown eyes alighted on the occupant of the desk two seats to the right of her, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. She watched as the boy sitting there pulled his phone out and unlocked it under his desk, quickly scrolling through his apps until he opened the messaging one and clicked on a name. Her eyes narrowed still further as she tried to read it from four feet away. It looked sort of like…... _**No.**_

Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of the name he had clicked on, and her eyebrows flew up into her bangs when she caught sight of the text the boy had received. She hurriedly looked away, her cheeks flushing darkly as she tried to erase the image from her mind. Unfortunately, she couldn't, and she was left with the image of Sally Donovan's smiling face and naked chest running through her mind. Closing her eyes didn't help in the least; it felt as if the image was burned onto the backs of her eyelids. Opening her eyes slowly, making sure to keep her face turned away from the boy's phone, Anthea frowned in thought. Why on earth would Sally Donovan be sending…pictures of a …salacious…nature to Philip Anderson? Wasn't he in a relationship? And actually, wasn't he gay? Before she could continue that train of thought, her ears picked up the sound of footsteps outside the classroom door, and she looked up in time to see a flash of dark hair pass the open doorway, before the footsteps became quieter as they faded into the distance.

She sighed, annoyed that it wasn't Mycroft, and glanced up at the clock again, noting that it had now been twenty-three minutes since class had started, and Mycroft still wasn't there. She shrugged and pulled her notebook out. But just as everyone else was starting to finish the reading up, and closing their own textbooks, Anthea's eyes caught a flash of auburn hair and pale skin above the blue of the school blazer through the open doorway, before it too disappeared. Her eyes narrowed once again, and she pursed her lips. Mycroft Holmes better have a bloody good reason for not being in class right now, especially since she had had to already take notes for him in History, and there was no way in Hell she was going to do it again.


	6. Chapter 6

Greg stared at his locker door without really seeing it, his brain reeling from the conversation he'd just had with his history professor. His body was on autopilot as he unlocked the lock and pulled the door open, before shoving his bag inside. He caught his gaze in the small magnetic mirror placed on the inside of his locker door, and stared at himself in the reflection.

What he saw there made him scowl in irritation. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, made him frown in shame. Of course he was going to lose his scholarship! Just look at him! Messy, boring brown hair that refused to stay gelled down, a crooked tie with a shitty knot, wrinkly second hand blazer; he was a joke. A total joke.

Greg sighed and made a half hearted attempt to straighten his tie and smooth out his blazer. What had he been thinking, a common lad like him, coming here? Who had he been trying to fool? Sure, he was good at rugby. But, so what? He was a pathetic middle class kid with pathetic middle class prospects, and this was a school for posh, rich, snobby kids with fancy cars and two summer homes in France. His uniform was second hand, his looks were mediocre, apparently even his grades were dismal; the only thing he had going for him at all was rugby, and he'd even managed to bugger that up! Wrinkly, messy, middle class him couldn't even keep his position on the rugby team, that's how pathetic he was.

It wasn't until he slammed his locker door shut in frustration, that Greg noticed quiet footsteps approaching. "Oh great," he muttered to himself. "Wouldn't be surprised if that was the bloody headmaster, coming to kick me out." He sighed wearily and turned around, ready to plaster on a fake smile and gracefully accept his defeat. Only, the person approaching him wasn't the headmaster, although he was just as intimidating.

It was Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft Fucking Holmes. Greg swallowed thickly as the teenager continued towards him, and waited for the boy to walk past him and continue down the hall to wherever he had to be. Only he didn't. Instead, Mycroft came to a stop a few feet from where Greg was standing, his normally perfectly coiffed hair in disarray, and his cheeks slightly flushed. They stared at each other for a moment, before Greg realised he was blatantly staring and cleared his throat.

"Um…Hi. Hullo."

"Ah, yes, hello." Greg watched as Mycroft straightened up slightly. "Gregory Lestrade, I do believe? I'm Myc–,"

"Mycroft Holmes, yeah, I know. We have History together." Greg smiled a little, and held out his hand. His brain was stuck on the fact that Mycroft Holmes of all people knew his name. "And call me Greg. Nobody but my Granny has ever called me Gregory."

Mycroft looked surprised, before a tentative smile appeared on his face. "Ah, yes. We do have History together, quite right. I've found that you tend to present compelling and logical arguments for a number of diverse topics, and I cannot say that I do not… appreciate the challenge you present." His hand clasped Greg's in a firm handshake, and Greg shivered.

It took Greg a second to wrap his still reeling head around the meaning of that wordy sentence, but when he finally did, he laughed. "Me, a challenge? I find that hard to believe. Really hard to believe. You win every single debate, especially when you and, what's her name? Anthea? Team up on the rest of us."

The slight flush that had been on Mycroft's face when he had approached returned, and he shook his head slightly. "When compared to the imbeciles I normally have to face, I can assure you that you are, indeed, a challenge. And believe me, I could not be more… pleased… with that fact, Gregory."

Greg raised his eyebrows and laughed again. "Oh, well, thanks. That's actually really nice of you, considering some of the people in History are really smart."

Now it was Mycroft's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Gregory, you are speaking about our History class, correct? The one that just ended? The one in which Philip Anderson, of all people, attends?" His eyebrows continued to move upwards with each statement of disbelief, as if he honestly could not comprehend what Greg meant.

Greg grinned. "Okay, you got me there. How Philip managed to get into that class, I haven't the faintest idea. He is a bit of an idiot, isn't he? You should have heard him in class today; he basically said that Queen Elizabeth should have gotten married immediately, and that she nearly 'ruined England'. I was very close to tossing either him or myself out of a window."

Greg watched in fascination as the other boy's bright blue eyes lit up as he laughed. 'Wow, he's fucking gorgeous.' Greg thought to himself. 'What the hell is he doing talking to me?'

"Well, you're not the only one who has harboured such a desire. Why, both Anthea and myself have confessed to such thoughts numerous times in just the past few weeks. But I know for a fact that the only reason he is still in the class, or any class for that matter, is because of his father's influence."

"Influence? What, is he like, a board member or something?"

Mycroft's lips quirked. "Or something. He is not only a board member, but the board's Director. As well as incredibly rich and a member of the political scene, if only in a minor capacity. So, as you can see, he has use of a hefty amount of influence within the school. Well, one must assume it's a hefty amount, to be able to keep a cretin like Anderson enrolled in academic classes."

Greg laughed again, shaking his head slightly. "God, yeah."

Mycroft's eyes shone. "Indeed."

They stood there, in silence for a few moments, just staring at each other with small smiles on their faces and laughter in their eyes. It took the echoing slam of a locker door further down the corridor to jolt them out of their positions, and the charged energy of their stare changed to awkwardness. Mycroft's flush was back in full force, turning his pale freckled cheeks a shade of red that clashed with his hair. It should have looked ridiculous, but Greg found himself smiling, and had to force his eyes to move away from the adorable flush. He cleared his throat as he fought down the urge to kiss the blushing cheeks only a few feet away from him.

"Uh, Mycroft?"

"Yes, Gregory?" Mycroft said, pointedly not looking in the other boy's direction, instead choosing to look down.

Greg smiled at the other boy's apparent fascination with the tiles beneath his feet, before continuing. "No, Greg, please. Honest, it's easier and I'm used to it."

"I'll endeavor to remember that for future occasions."

Greg snorted. "Liar."

At that Mycroft finally raised his gaze, as well as one of his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"You've been found out, Mycroft Holmes. Worst lie ever, might wanna try harder next time."

Mycroft smirked and shifted on his feet. "Ah, but it wasn't a lie at all. I shall indeed remember that shortening 'Gregory' to 'Greg' is easier. I do not believe, however, that I will put the derivative to use."

"Anything I can do to convince you otherwise?" Greg asked, holding the flirtatious smile he wanted to release inside. Mycroft Holmes was actually chatting with him, and it wouldn't do any good to scare the boy away now; who knew when the next time they'd get to chat would be? So Greg kept his more flirtatious nature on a tight leash.

"I'd have to say no, although there was something I wished to ask you, which was the entire point of my original approach." Mycroft fidgeted where he stood for a moment, before stepping forwards the tiniest bit as he said, "I'm afraid I overheard a small portion of yours and Professor O'Leary's conversation some minutes ago, and wished to offer you my services as a supplementary source of education. Well, that is to say, I was hoping you would accept my offer to assist you in your endeavours to maintain your required GPA, so that you may continue on in your position as Rugby Captain and academic student in this institution." All this came out in a rush, and his face was no longer lightly flushed, but a flaming tomato red. Which, once again, should have looked ridiculous, but which Greg found to be decidedly adorable. Or, he would have, if he had not been too busy trying to figure out what Mycroft's long speech had been about to notice.

When his brain finally did catch up to the meaning of the words, after having weeded out the unnecessary ones, he couldn't help but stand still in shock. Mycroft was offering to…tutor him? Sexy, posh, genius Mycroft Holmes? What?

"What?"

Mycroft blinked slowly. "I said, I wish to offer you my–,"

Greg waved a hand in the air, shaking his head. "No, I know what you said, I just, uh," He stopped and took a deep breath. "I guess I was just wondering, um…why?"

Once again Mycroft blinked slowly, a look of confusion on his face. "Because, as I said, you need to maintain your GPA in order to—,"

"No, I meant like, why me? Why are you offering to help me?"

Mycroft's look of confusion turned into a frown, and his eyes seemed to trace Greg's facial features as if searching for something as he said, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

Greg gestured with one hand, indicating his body. "Look at me! I'm a nobody, just a common lad, and you're, well, not. Yeah? So, why me?" Greg stood there in front of his locker door, waiting for an answer, and felt a wave of embarrassment flow through him. It was true, after all. He was a nobody, and Mycroft most definitely was a somebody, and the sooner they both realised it, the sooner Mycroft could realise his mistake and take back his offer.

"No."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Sorry?"

"No, I've already answered that question, and I do not like to repeat myself. The fact that you don't seem to believe that I, or another person similar to myself, would choose to help you get ahead in your studies so you may maintain your various positions is, frankly, insulting. You need help, and so I am offering to give it to you. That is the entirety of it."

Greg gaped. "But––,"

"No. No to your question, no to me rescinding the offer, no to an ulterior motive, no to needing an alternate reason to help out a student whom I have already stated, previous to this, I believe to be intelligent and certainly more competent that the vast majority of the student body within these walls. And in case that didn't cover what you were just about to say, no to that as well. So, unless you believe me to be incapable of assisting you in the way you need, there can be no logical argument against my position, and I will not accept an illogical refusal. And, if that is the case, let me assuage your worries by stating that there is no one more fit than myself, accepting possibly a professor, to which you could go to for assistance in raising your GPA to the level you need."

Mycroft wore a look of utter seriousness on his face as his eyes bore into Greg's. Greg had no response, and could do nothing but stare incredulously at the boy before him.

"So, as that has now been sorted satisfactorily, let us start again. Gregory, you will accept my offer to assist you, and I will try my hardest to rise to the task."

Greg sputtered. "Will I?" He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

Mycroft mimicked the action and raised a single eyebrow. "Do you have a logical reason for a reiterated refusal?"

Greg's sputtering continued, before he shut his mouth and glared.

Mycroft smirked smugly and uncrossed his arms. "I thought not. So, again. You will accept my offer, and I will rise to the task."

Greg sighed and uncrossed his arms as well. "You could try actually asking me, instead of stating it like it's an order, or whatever."

Mycroft merely raised his eyebrow higher, and Greg huffed and held out his hand.

"Alright, fine. Yes, I will accept your offer."

Mycroft dropped his eyebrow and smiled, reaching over to clasp Greg's hand in his once again. "Good. I'm glad you decided to see sense."

Greg snorted and let go of Mycroft's hand. "Yeah, go me. Don't know why I even bothered, you always win debates anyways, I didn't stand a chance." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, had you been able to find a logical reason to refuse, and been able to create an argument based on such, I'm sure you would have, as you say, stood a chance."

"Well, cheers. I won't let myself get to upset over it; I have the feeling you almost never lose, so the fact that I lost isn't such a big deal."

Mycroft smiled and nodded. "That would be wise. Now, I must be getting to my class, Anthea is likely to toss me out the window if I miss another full class today. Thank you for your time, Gregory, and for your acceptance of my offer."

Greg nodded back and turned towards his locker. "Yeah, I'll see you in History tomorrow. Have fun in class, good luck with Anthea." He turned to grin slightly at Mycroft before the other boy also turned away.

"Quite. Good day, Gregory." And with that, Mycroft Holmes turned around and began walking back the way he'd come. Greg stood in front of his locker and watched as the boy made his way down the hall. His eyes didn't leave the taller form until it turned the corner, and it was only then that Greg turned back towards his locker to remove his Rugby gear and think about what had just happened.

'I'm going to be tutored by Mycroft Holmes.' He thought, testing it out in his mind to see how it sounded, now that it was definitely happening. On one hand, he was so fucking lucky; Mycroft was not only incredibly sexy and adorable, but also really fucking smart. There was no way he'd lose out on his scholarship, if he had the auburn haired boy helping him, which meant that both his position on the team, as well as his place in the school, were safe. On the other hand, that meant endless hours of sitting in close quarters with the boy, without being able to act on any of his desires. Greg had no idea if Mycroft was straight or gay or bisexual, but there was no way in hell he would kill his chances of being tutored by finding out. Which meant endless hours reigning in his flirtatious nature, maintaining a socially acceptable distance from the other boy's body, and trying not to give in to his desire to kiss Mycroft. Greg thought of the other boy's delicious looking lips and groaned.

Oh god, he was so fucking screwed.


	7. Chapter 7

Anthea waited until Professor Benner had her back turned, before pulling her phone out and quickly tapping out a text to Mycroft.

 **WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? -A**

She only had to wait a few seconds, before her phone was vibrating in her hands. She made sure Benner still had her back turned before glancing down at the screen.

 **I'm right outside the room.**  
 **Distract Benner for me? -MH**

Anthea rolled her eyes and sighed. The things she did for that idiot boy...she huffed out a breath and stood up. "Professor?" She called out, standing up and stepping away from her desk. Her voice called the teacher's attention away from the student she was explaining a concept from the textbook too.

"Yes, Miss Boyette? Did you need me to explain something?"

Anthea nodded and continued forwards towards Benner and the whiteboard in front of them. "Yes, I was wondering if you could go over a part of the text we just read? Section 4.9? I found myself having a little trouble with it."

Professor Benner smiled and turned towards the whiteboard, her back to the door, as she pulled out a marker and began to write. "Well, I'm glad you asked, because I felt that most of you would have a little trouble with that part. You see, when Germany..." As she narrated and drew her explanation, Anthea nodded along and turned her body slightly so she was better able to watch the classroom door. Every student's eyes were facing the whiteboard, and the teacher's explanation, which was good because it made it much easier for Mycroft to slowly open the door further and slide inside, before shutting it silently behind him.

Anthea glanced at him from the corner of her eye and smiled, still nodding along to Benner's narrative. She held her breath until she saw her friend was safely seated, no one the wiser. She waited an additional few seconds for him to get settled, before nodding once more and saying, "Thank you, Professor Benner. I understand it much better now." She smiled at her teacher before making her way back to her seat, which was directly beside Mycroft's. She sat down and opened her textbook back up, sliding it over on the desk a little and pointing at the page number with one finger. "From this page to the end of the chapter." She whispered under her breath for the benefit of Mycroft.

"Thanks." He whispered back, sounding distracted. Anthea leaned back slightly in her chair and took a moment to study him.

His normally perfect hair was slightly ruffled, his blazer was wrinkled, and his tie crooked. All of these things could be contributed to being in a rush to get to class, as well as having to deal with a Sherlock instigated issue, but Anthea couldn't help but frown slightly. No, that wasn't all...there was something she was missing, she was sure of it. Her sharp brown eyes scanned his face, taking in the flushed skin, and the nearly imperceptible smile gracing his lips. It was clearly unconscious, and Anthea was hard pressed to think of a time Mycroft had smiled like that, all soft and contented.

"Why were you so late?" She asked quietly, an idea coming into her brain suddenly. If she was to hazard a guess, well...let's just say she may have recognized the brown hair that had passed the slightly open door before Mycroft's flash of auburn.

Mycroft didn't look up from his reading as he said, "No reason."

Anthea snorted, turning in her seat to better face him as she replied, "Oh come on, tell me. You know you want to." She watched as his smile widened and he sat up straight, turning in his seat to face her also.

"I ran into a classmate, and we had a bit of a chat, that's all." He shrugged and turned back to his book.

Anthea narrowed her eyes. "Well...if you say so." She said slowly, knowing he was leaving something out but not quite sure what or if it was important enough to badger him about while in class. She turned back to face the front of the room, closing her textbook.

"Oh, and one more thing," Mycroft said, his face still turned downwards towards the book on his desk.

Anthea raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" Turning in her seat slightly, she caught a glimpse of her friend's smirk and knew he was going to tell her what he had really been up to while skipping class. And if it involved a certain brunette...well, here's to hoping. "Do tell." She said sarcastically, trying to hide the fact that she was actually quite interested and basically on the edge of her seat. Honestly, she thought, I diverted Benner's attention so he could slip into class unnoticed, the least he could do is tell me why he was late in the first place.

"There will be someone else joining us for our weekly study session from now on. Just thought you should know."

Anthea's eyebrows flew up and her entire body froze. _What?_

"What?"

Mycroft turned towards her, finally looking up from his book. His lips were turned upwards in a smile, and his blue eyes practically shone. "Yes, well, they need some help getting their grades up, and I offered my services."

This caused Anthea's eyebrows to move even further up her forehead. Mycroft Holmes, offering his scholastic abilities to another student? Mycroft Holmes, posh perfectionist, who basically hated the entire student body? Mycroft Holmes, who couldn't stand idiots, who disdained mediocrity, offering to help out someone else? Anthea nearly choked in surprise. But, if it was the person she thought it might be, maybe it wasn't so out of the ordinary. She furrowed her brows for a moment in thought. Yes, she was almost positive it had been Gregory Lestrade who had rushed past the classroom door only moments before Mycroft had. And she had caught Mycroft stealing glances at him for the past two months in their History class, despite the fact that he tried to be subtle. She stifled a snort and looked back up at her friend.

"You offered your...services, did you?" She raised an eyebrow and smirked. "That's rather suggestive, isn't it?"

She watched in satisfaction as her best friend sputtered indignantly. "Well, that is- I wasn't suggesting that...no, I'm quite sure I didn't mean anything of the sort-"

Anthea laughed and shook her head. "It's fine, Myc, I'm just kidding. In fact, I'm glad you asked Greg to join us, it'll be nice to have a new perspective on some things." She smiled cheekily at the ginger.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "How did you-" he began quietly but was cut off when the teacher tapped his desk with her ruler.

"Mr. Holmes, I see you've decided to join us."

Mycroft straightened up and folded his hands on his desk. "Yes, Professor Benner."

Benner nodded. "And while I'm sure we're all very glad you are here, I'm quite certain that your time is better spent reading the text than it is being distracted by Miss. Boyette."

Anthea hid a smirk behind her hand as Mycroft said, "Yes, Professor Benner." She glanced out of the corner of her eye at him and saw him turn a glare on her the moment Benner stepped away. She might have been more worried about the glare, had his lips not still held the traces of his smile. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled innocently at him.

"Good. Now, if you will please enlighten us; what is the answer to the question posed in section 5.3?" Benner asked as she walked back towards the front of the class. As Mycroft began to speak, Anthea rested her chin on her hand and glanced out the window, smiling slightly. She was extremely happy that her friend had finally made his move- well, she amended, at least spoken to his crush. Her brows furrowed slightly as the thought of Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson- together in that way -crossed her mind, but she pushed it away and turned back towards Myc just in time to see him finish up his answer to Benner's question.

"Correct. Very good Mr. Holmes. It is nice to see that missing class doesn't mean you don't do your work. Now, if you'll turn to page 274, I'd like you to all read over the chart there..."

Mycroft turned towards her with a triumphant smirk on his face, and Anthea stuck her tongue out at him.

"Childish." He muttered.

Anthea corrected him. "Hilarious." They both turned towards one another and smiled, before going back to their textbooks and glancing over the chart Benner had assigned them.


End file.
